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Updated: May 20, 2025
Perhaps a word or two might have been said about the relations of "Paradise Lost" to other "epics." It manifestly belongs not to the same class of poems as the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey," or even the "AEneid." Dobson's Latin translation of it is about the greatest feat ever performed in modern Latin verse, and it shows by a crucial experiment how little Milton really has in common with Virgil.
I must concentrate myself on the matter in hand: Miss Dobson's visit. What was going to happen? Prescience was no part of my outfit. From what I knew about Miss Dobson, I deduced that she would be a great success. That was all. Had I had the instinct that was given to those Emperors in stone, and even to the dog Corker, I should have begged Clio to send in my stead some man of stronger nerve.
Indeed, more astonishing than his being here, was his manner and bearing. At Master Dobson's, a natural remark of mine had beaten all his wits out of him. Here his assurance was such that it puzzled me out of action. "My sergeant, madam," he began, "no mean judge, since he has seen the reigning beauties of half the capitals of Europe, told me to expect a prize, but it is the prize.
After a while, Mr Holdsworth broke the silence: 'If I were you, Manning, I'd look up these relations of yours. You can go and see what they're like while we re waiting for Dobson's estimates, and I'll smoke a cigar in the garden meanwhile. 'Thank you, sir. But I don't know them, and I don't think I want to know them.
"Measurement of timber, new railings," "drench for cows, from Farmer Hayes," "Dobson's accounts," 'um 'um here it is. Now read that letter, handing it to Mr. Gibson.
"She said, 'Not you! The trouble is past all help now. I might have prevented it a few days ago, but I did not know the miserable lass was again on the road of sin and danger. Nobody knew. Nobody stopped her. And, O merciful God, in three days danger turned out to be death! I have just come back from her funeral. 'Whose funeral? I asked. 'Susanna Dobson's funeral, mother said.
'And he was short o' food, moaned Sylvia, 'and we had plenty, and I tried to make yo'r sister turn him out, and send him away. Oh! will God iver forgive me? Muttering to herself, breaking her mutterings with sharp cries of pain, Sylvia, with Kester's help, reached widow Dobson's house. It was no longer a quiet, lonely dwelling.
If she allowed the smith to hand her to her pew in church on Sunday, she, nevertheless, smiled sweetly on the baker; and if she took a drive in Farmer Dobson's pony-chaise for her health, yet, Farmer Thomas would sit for hours inside her bar; the truth was, the good widow was perfectly well aware that her snug little free-hold and thriving little trade were quite as great objects of attraction as her delectable self, and acting on the same principle as that old humbug 'Elizabeth, insanely called 'the good Queen Bess, viz: the balancing opposite interests, she drew custom to her house and grist to her mill, without troubling herself as to selection from her numerous admirers, which, besides displeasing the others, would place another in authority over that bar, which, for the last ten years, she had ruled monarch of all she surveyed.
But we are not particular, we are ready for anything." "Ay, an' fit for nothin'," observed Sandy, with a peculiar smile and shrug, meant to indicate that his jest was more than half earnest. The three brothers laughed again at this, and their friend Dobson smiled. Dobson's smile was peculiar.
Caw, to get to work with the constabulary. SEVENTH, he himself was probably free from suspicion in both Loudon's and Dobson's minds as a harmless fool. But that freedom would not survive his reappearance in Dalquharter.
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